


Read to Your Dearest

by Aboutnothingness (Thesherlockholmes)



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: (Got the point that this is pure fluff yet?), Domestic Fluff, Featured cats are Oscar and Tiffany, Fluff, M/M, Peter Rabbit - Freeform, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, based on that question response where Freddie said his favourite book was Beatrix Potter's, the husbands!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28473891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesherlockholmes/pseuds/Aboutnothingness
Summary: “What’s your favourite book?” Jim’s voice is soft, an unassuming inquiry to pass the time, to keep this golden moment drawn out, to linger just a second longer.Jim finds out what Freddie's favourite book is.
Relationships: Jim Hutton/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 13
Kudos: 25





	Read to Your Dearest

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kensingtonmarketstall for the quick beta (and for the cat timeline, because even fluff must be historically accurate!) and for sending me the post that made me want to write this!

This is all he wanted, for years: some place warm in entirety; in feeling, in company, in physicality, in presence. Here, finally, he has it.

Jim’s hand is trailing gently up and down his arm, lying on his side beside him.

“What’s your favourite book?” Jim’s voice is soft, an unassuming inquiry to pass the time, to keep this golden moment drawn out, to linger just a second longer.

Freddie looks away from Jim, mouth forming a mew. He could just lie, could just come up with the title of one of the books Roger went on about years ago, something grown-up and respectable. Somehow though, with this gentle man, that seems to be cheating, seems to be an unnecessary facade. After all, who’s ever asked him such an innocent question? A question asked for no reason other than for familiarity, for the sheer pleasure of knowing.

“You have to promise not to laugh.”

Jim’s hand is still absently stroking his arm, “I won’t, honey.”

Freddie glances at him, scrutinises just for a moment, deciding that ultimately, there's not much to lose in the answering. He’s been laughed at by lovers before, he can handle it by now, no harm done.

“Peter Rabbit.” He says finally, in a small voice.

“Y’know what? I never did read Peter Rabbit.”

“What? _Never?_ ”

Jim shakes his head at the man who sounds near scandalised at someone having been deprived the joy of reading the children’s book. As if there has been some great injustice done with this gap in his literacy.

Entirely enchanted, Jim closes the gap between them, kissing his forehead. “Maybe I’ll have to pick it up someday.”

Jim reaches up to turn off the light and wraps his arm entirely around Freddie, holding him close, as he knows by now the man craves just as desperately (perhaps more so) than anything else they do.

“Goodnight, honey.” He says, kissing the man again. In the dark, Freddie hums back, so nearly captured by sleep, and he wonders if he really can hear contentedness in the sound or if it’s mere fanciful imagination.

-

Freddie has turned in for the night. It’s something of a rare occurrence, as he much prefers nights on the town, partying to all hours, but sometimes he comes back from a day at the studio and wants only a moment of quiet. So it is now, at peace in the relative quiet of Garden Lodge.

Jim comes in to find him tucked in the bedclothes, two cats (Oscar and Tiffany) in his lap, being lavished with attention. Upon closing the bedroom door, Freddie looks up from the felines, face immediately taking on the glow of happiness reserved only for him.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.” Jim says, arm tellingly tucked behind his back.

“Have you?” exclaims Freddie, suddenly all adorable childish glee that has Jim fighting back a grin of his own.

He comes around the bed, settling himself besides Freddie, and hands him the wrapped present. Freddie, mindful of not accidently hitting the cats with the present, unwraps it, turns it over in his hands.

“Peter Rabbit! Oh Jim! How – you _remembered_ and after all this _time!_ ” He surges over to him, pecking kisses along his cheeks and forehead, obscuring any response Jim might have, any protest that _of course I remembered, darling!_ “Won’t you read it to me?”

“That was the idea, poppet.”

Freddie settles himself against Jim then, obviously insistent that the man reads it _this instant._ Jim chuckles, running a hand through his hair, pulling the blanket up over the man’s shoulders.

He opens the book, sighs, and arranges it so that Freddie can see the pages too, as it appears to be illustrated.

“The Tale of Peter Rabbit, by Beatrix Potter… Once upon a time there were four little Rabbits, and their names were—Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter.”

As he reads the pages, he looks down to see Freddie smiling softly, looking for all the world like an overgrown child perfectly content with this world lit by the evening’s silky moon.

A small chuckle erupts from Freddie when he reads, “Peter was most dreadfully frightened; he rushed all over the garden, for he had forgotten the way back to the gate. He lost one of his shoes among the cabbages, and the other shoe amongst the potatoes.”

“Oh dear, the poor thing’s almost naked!” Jim has to laugh himself at the comment.

Along they go with little Peter Rabbit, through the vegetables, and into the shed, (at which Freddie shrieks that _he’s all wet now!_ ), and right back through the garden, and finally, _oh dear finally_ , through the garden’s gate.

Freddie exclaims at the unjustness of Peter Rabbit having only chamomile tea— _darling, think if I did such a thing to our little ones!_ —after his dreadful adventure!

“Well, dear,” says Freddie, looking up at him when he closes the book, “What do you think?”

“Very sweet, I liked the illustrations.”

“Oh I loved them as a child! Aren't they sweet? Lovely little bunnies. There's a whole series, you know?”

“I did see that. Should we get them all, read them to the cats?”

Freddie hums, perfectly content to _not_ concede that they would really be purchased for him—for how silly is that, dear!—, “Oh yes, though I'm not quite sure Ms. Potter would think that the _best_ thing.”

“Well, I hardly think our babies would go after Peter Rabbit, especially not after reading these. Rabbits aren't exactly rampant in central London, Freddie.”

“Oh, you!” Freddie hits him lightly in the chest, more playful than anything, causing Jim to chuckle again.

Oh you sweet little one, never admitting to your softer lit side.

Jim pulls Freddie closer to him, hugs him tighter. and then says with a glance at the cats sprawled in Freddie’s lap, “You know, I don't quite think Tiffany was listening. Didn't you see, she was grooming her paws—inattentive! We ought to read it again for her…”


End file.
